


can i try again? (on hope, growth, and losing penelope everpetal)

by kerberastro



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Implied/Referenced Underage Drug Use, Post-Canon Fix-It, Road Trips, Underage Drinking, mitski references galore, nothing that hasn't been touched on in canon, this makes this fic sound Insane but i promise its not as wild as these tags make it seem, trauma talk :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28199619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerberastro/pseuds/kerberastro
Summary: Sometimes it hits her that the new Aelwyn, despite slowly getting better, doesn’t exactly get out much, so it’s not like she should expect people to know that she’s different now. However, it still feels like a bit of a gut punch when someone looks at her and clearly only sees someone vicious and cruel, an accomplice in bringing about the end of the world (twice, even, but who’s really counting?).Whatever. It’s a work in progress.
Relationships: Aelwyn Abernant/Sam Nightingale, Penelope Everpetal/Sam Nightingale
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39
Collections: Dimension 20 Big Bang





	1. party trick/dreamscape

She’s getting better. 

Aelwyn is getting better, she  _ promises,  _ she is, but sometimes things are bad, and memories of the Nightmare Forest and that goddamn prison orb and that stupid fucking cat cross her mind when she’s trying to trance and she’ll  _ sob _ , and Adaine will climb down from her top bunk and they’ll talk for hours. She always feels bad for waking her sister, but Adaine doesn’t seem all too bothered. They’re trying to be sisters again. 

For the first time, rather. 

Jawbone, she finds, is  _ so  _ good to her, too. He’s not quite a father figure yet, but rather more of a quirky uncle with the most solid advice she’s ever recieved and the coziest hugs she’s ever gotten. Reluctantly, but relatively frequently, she’s been seeing the therapist that he’d (strongly) recommended to her. Jawbone practically had to drag her out of the house for their first meeting, but, though she’d never admit it, it’s helped her sort her thoughts out  _ plenty _ . Deep down, though, there’s a pinpricking, nagging little thought, telling Aelwyn that she doesn’t deserve to be in such good hands. She’d told her therapist this, to which she had replied, “Aelwyn, you deserve to be cared for.” She thinks about that a lot. 

She’s also been drinking less, too, and she hasn’t touched a single drug since taking Dusk Moss in Hollyhill (where she’d absolutely tripped  _ balls _ with her mom as part of a dark ritual, which is something that not many people are able to say that they’ve done before, but a one Aelwyn Abernant certainly can).

Yeah, yeah, you know this part already. For the first time in a long time, Aelwyn is doing okay. 

The thing is; its not so much that she  _ loves _ being at Mordred Manor, or that the Bad Kids mean the  _ world _ to her or that she’s never tranced better in her life (well, that’s only partially untrue), but it’s more the purely distracting nature of the Manor’s residents that keeps her on her feet. She doesn’t have to think about things too hard, and when she begins to do so, someone will swing by to strike up a conversation, every time without fail, and the bad thoughts make their way out of the foreground of her mind. Some mornings, Aelwyn will make a cup of coffee in the kitchen and have a chat with Fig or Kristen at the table that leaves her smiling despite herself. Some afternoons, she’ll play cards with Adaine and Ayda. Ayda’s a  _ brilliant  _ wizard, and Aelwyn is endlessly jealous of how skilled she is at magic. She’s offered to give Aelwyn some tips on spellcasting a few times now, but she doesn’t want to bother her, so she never takes her up on it. She knows that Ayda means well, but reaching out to people is one of many things that she’s still getting used to. 

And the most distracting of all is when Sandra Lynn, Jawbone and Lydia will have a night out, whatever that means for forty-something year olds, and then, sometimes, the Seven Maidens will come by, bringing fizzy drinks that are only sort of alcoholic and taste like straight sugar and syrupy fruit, and the Bad Kids will have a little get-together with their school friends, getting a bit tipsy and staying up a bit too late. Sometimes, Aelwyn will even join in, although her definition of  _ joining in _ is usually sitting in a corner, nursing a red plastic cup of soda and vodka (the vodka that she’d found in the cupboard above the fridge, but she’d never tell). She doesn’t too much care for sweets. 

It’s weird, seeing the Maidens all together, almost two years later; it feels like she’s looking at a completely different group of people. They’re not  _ the seven maidens  _ anymore, helpless and vulnerable and small, they’re The Seven Maidens; an unstoppable, fearsome force of an adventuring party, which somehow makes her feel… strangely proud of them? Well, despite the wracking guilt that she feels just seeing them. Not to mention the brooding looks of absolute bloodlust on some of their faces when they catch sight of her. She never thought it would ever be possible for a group of teenage girls to scare the living daylights out of her, but that was before she’d ever encountered the Seven Maidens. 

It’s on one of these nights (specifically, the night before the Bad Kids and some other assorted friends were supposed to leave town, accompanying Fig and Gorgug on a small, week-long Sig Figs tour around Solace) that Aelwyn Abernant properly meets Sam Nightingale. 

Well, it’s as proper of an introduction as is possible when one is multiple fizzy, fruity, too-sweet drinks in.

Sam with her crop top and her hoop earrings, Sam with her cool sneakers and lazy smile, walks over to Aelwyn where she’s posted up on the couch. She doesn’t say anything, just sits down next to her, taking sips of her condensation-covered can, which Aelwyn can tell she’s keeping at a perfectly chilled temperature with a cantrip. __

“Hi. Um.. Sam, right?” Aelwyn says finally, clearing her throat and trying to speak loudly enough to be heard over the music in the room.

“Yeah.” Sam replies. “Hi, Aelwyn.” 

She gets goosebumps at that, Sam knowing _precisely_ who she is. Obviously, she knows. She knows who she is, what she knew, what she did. It makes Aelwyn feel defeated that, _still,_ more people know the old Aelwyn than the new Aelwyn, and some don’t even know that the new Aelwyn exists at all. Sometimes it hits her that the new Aelwyn, despite slowly getting better, doesn’t exactly get out much, so it’s not like she should _expect_ people to know that she’s different now. However, it still feels like a bit of a gut punch when someone looks at her and clearly only sees someone vicious and cruel, an accomplice in bringing about the end of the world ( _twice_ , even, but who’s really counting?). 

Whatever. It’s a work in progress. 

Sam’s fingers drum on the aluminium of her drink can, and she sighs. “I didn’t really wanna come here. I’m not huge on parties anymore.” 

A bitter laugh practically crumbles from Aelwyn’s mouth. She notices the “ _ anymore”.  _ That’s the most important part, to Aelwyn at least, because she’s the same. In fact, she’s been working on that one a lot. She doesn’t run around, cross-faded into oblivion, recklessly flinging spells, letting herself get taken advantage of, and then waking up to the feeling of acid rising in her throat anymore. 

Now she’s, like, kind of a normal person in that regard.  _ Only _ that regard, though. 

“Neither am I.” She says, and it sounds like one word. “Um. Sorry. I guess I just… realized we’d never really spoken before.” 

Sam gives a small laugh. “Yeah. Well, I guess we are now, huh?” 

“I suppose so.” Aelwyn replies, realizing how formal she must sound. _ Fix it, fix it, fix it.  _ “You look really nice.” She adds.  _ Wait. Fuck. How much have I had to drink? _

Sam furrows her brows, almost in surprise and confusion all at once, it seems. “Oh. Thanks.” 

Aelwyn looks at Sam, who stares into her drink, and it’s then that a  _ stupid  _ little fraction of a piece of old Aelwyn shoves her way out of hiding, and she’s saying  _ fuck it. Fuck it! Live a little.  _

“Wanna make out?” Aelwyn asks. 

Old habits. 

“Oh! Um…” Sam is visibly taken aback at the idea, but then she’s glancing around to see if any of her friends are looking, and then she’s looking back at Aelwyn. Aelwyn doesn't say anything else, even though what she  _ wants _ to do is play it off as a joke, but then Sam’s mouth threatens to lift in what appears to  _ maybe _ be a smile. “Yeah. Sure.” She says. That’s all she says. And it’s all Aelwyn needs to hear. 

She doesn’t think it through, but nonetheless, she takes Sam to an empty hallway that’s tucked away from the party (Mordred Manor is notorious for having plenty of these). Then, they’re pressed together and she tastes the alcohol on Sam’s breath and it’s warm and sweet. She kisses her noncommittally, and it’s weird and dreamy and all-too-familiar. Old Aelwyn is  _ delighted  _ at this unexpected turn of events. 

Sam is kinder than the boys she’s done this with before, though. She holds Aelwyn’s mid back with an open palm so that she doesn’t lose her balance, and she kisses her slowly, and Aelwyn lets her and  _ lets her.  _

But then, in a sudden, staggering moment of realization and the feeling of Sam moving impossibly closer to wedge her thighs around one of Aelwyn’s own, her hips shifting forward, she remembers herself and pulls away from the kiss. She accidentally bites down hard on her lower lip in the process, and it begins bleeding. 

“Wait.” 

Aelwyn’s voice is hushed, a barely-there whisper just a fraction of an inch away from Sam’s face. She feels sick. There’s blood on her teeth. It tastes like pennies and pathetic anxiety, and she’s knocked off kilter. She’s light-headed, it’s made worse because she’s drunk, and she knows this feeling much too well. “I can’t do this.” 

Sam looks at her, a bright flush of violet flooding her face. “Oh god, I’m  _ so _ sorry, holy shit. That really… escalated. I’m so sorry.”

Aelwyn looks down at their interlocked legs, now less so than before. “Oh goodness, shut up, it’s not you, I promise.” Aelwyn says, giving Sam’s forearm a little squeeze. “It’s just- it’s fucking  _ stupid _ , but I just don’t think that, like, anything… more than just, like, kissing is going to be good for me right now, and- ” She sighs. “Look. I’m drunk. You’re drunk. We obviously shouldn’t have been doing this in the first place. I’m sorry.” 

Sam rubs her temple with two fingers. “I totally get it. I- yeah. Thanks for telling me.” She slurs the last bit slightly.  _ God, this was dumb.  _ “Uh. Why don’t we just… go back to the party.” 

“Yeah.” Aelwyn mutters, then speaks louder. “Yeah. Okay. Um… okay. Have a nice night.” 

Sam doesn’t reply, and it feels bad. It all feels bad. 

The party is uneventful after that; they head back out to the main room after composing themselves and fixing their hair so that nobody becomes suspicious. Sam rejoins the Maidens and gets to talking to Antiope and Danielle about some rumour about somebody from Aguefort that Aelwyn doesn’t know. Aelwyn doesn’t drink any more than she already has, and resorts to sneaking into the kitchen to make some tea for her already queasy stomach (she gets a confused look from Ragh Barkrock, and she discreetly flips him off) before heading up to her shared bedroom with Adaine. 

Not too much later, Aelwyn hears the muffled goodbyes of friends from downstairs as they leave in small groups at a time, and soon, the party is over with the last set of headlights disappearing down the road. Well, head _ light _ , as Fabian is the last one to leave on the Hangman. Aelwyn knows that his bike drives completely on its own accord, but she still deeply hopes that he’s sober as she watches him tear off from the driveway through her window at the very top of the Manor. A teeny-tiny piece of her heart still cares about that boy, but in the same way that she cares about the rest of the Bad Kids. He doesn’t even feel like an ex, but rather a dear friend of a friend. 

The steam from the cup of tea in her hands rises on her face in soft wisps of mint scented water vapour, and it calms her nerves a little bit, even if she _is_ still humiliated. Guilty, too. Why did she have to relapse into her old persona who loved to scream and giggle and cry _oh_ , _look at me! I like to party and get fucked up and hook up with people I barely even know! Look at me, look at me, look at me!_ _Aren’t I so pretty? Please tell me so as I drink this shot._

She really thought she’d shedded that, she’d come  _ so far _ . This is exactly why she shouldn’t drink. New rule: no more alcohol for Aelwyn. She imagines writing it on a sticky note, clipping her bangs back and sticking it on her forehead with a comical  _ smack _ . 

Soon, the sounds of quiet feet padding up the creaky wooden floorboards of the Manor make their way upstairs. 

“Okay. Night, Fig.” Comes a quiet, giggling voice from the end of the hallway, and moments later, Adaine appears in the doorway of their bedroom. She looks worn out, ready to turn in for the night, and she’s holding a glass of water. 

“Hey.” She says. “Where were you?” She doesn’t sound accusatory, she sounds concerned. 

“I’ve been up here for a bit.” Aelwyn replies. 

Adaine reaches into her closet and grabs a sweatshirt, pulling it over her head. “You okay?” She asks as her head pops out of the top, mussing up her soft blonde hair. 

Aelwyn nods. “Yeah. I’m good.” 

Her lip is still bleeding. She pulls it into her mouth to get the blood off, but the cut is still visible. 

Adaine looks at her long and hard, then sighs. Aelwyn knows that sentiment all too well; it’s sister-speak for Adaine knowing something is off, but that she should probably forget about it for both of their sakes. 

“Okay. But don’t make me cast detect thoughts on you, ‘cause I  _ will _ .” She teases, climbing up the ladder to her top bunk. Aelwyn rolls her eyes with a scoff.  _ She wouldn’t, but okay _ .

“I’m going to get some rest. So should you.” Adaine tells her gently, and Aelwyn nods, though she knows Adaine can’t see her from her top bunk. “Night.” Her sister says. Aelwyn repeats it back. 

She’s out like a light almost immediately, but rather than go into a trance, she falls into a deep sleep for the first time in what might be years. She dreams that she’s standing on a coastline, and cool splashes of seawater mist her face as calm waves push and pull against the sand at the edge of the water. Dream-Aelwyn closes her eyes and tilts her head up to the sun to feel its warmth, and a gentle hand rests on Dream-Aelwyn’s shoulder. But suddenly, there  _ is _ no sun, and then _ she’s  _ the sun, scalding and unforgiving and furious. 

Real-Life-Aelwyn forgets the dream entirely the moment she wakes up. 

————

Penelope Everpetal had always been something of an enigma to Aelwyn. She was always pretty and bubbly, sarcastic and cunning, but mostly, she was  _ ambitious _ . Anything she wanted fell right into the palms of her hands. She knew how to make the world bend in her favour, and she did it well. There was truly nobody better to crown an eternal prom queen. 

The two of them had become fast friends while working with Kalvaxus, always meeting up after school, planning, spellcrafting, gossiping. Aelwyn soon had learned that Penelope was actually kind of sweet underneath her cold exterior, a side of her that she certainly wasn’t known for around school (if Aelwyn’s being honest, she, let alone most, wouldn't even think to fathom the idea of such a different version of Penelope). She’d always figured that Penelope had decided to trust her because she was another cool girl her age that was involved in Kalvaxus’ plot. She failed to understand that logic; Aelwyn Abernant is not one to trust so easily. 

Penelope talked about Sam Nightingale often. 

On one night in particular, a crystal call that had originally begun as a discussion about potential candidates to trap in palimpsests got derailed quickly the moment Sam was brought up.

_ “I just worry about her.” Penelope said, her voice muffled on the other end of the line. “Like, I know we can’t ditch the plan, and I should just fucking follow through and let it happen, but she’s also, like… kinda my best friend, y’know?” _

_ “I get that.” Aelwyn replied. She didn’t. She had never had a best friend. She didn’t tell Penelope that. Too embarrassing. _

_ She heard Penelope sigh. “Johnny’s gonna do it. He figures it’ll be easy, and honestly? I’m just glad it doesn’t have to be me.”  _

_ Aelwyn nodded, even though Penelope couldn’t see her. “Yeah.” She said. “I mean, you could try and get Sam to stay away from Johnny if you really want to save her.”  _

_ Penelope considered this for a moment. “That might actually work. I just worry that she’d think I’m like, trying to break them up or something. Which, okay, I wouldn’t be opposed to them breaking up, ‘cause Johnny sucks, but I just…” She paused, sighing. “I don’t want her to be mad at me. I really love her, she’s my best friend.” Her voice dipped in volume, and Aelwyn felt a pang in her heart. She  _ loved _ her.  _

_ “Is she really your best friend?” Aelwyn asked her.  _

_ “Yeah, at least I think so.”  _

_ “She’ll understand, then.” Aelwyn told her.  _

_ Penelope sighed again. “Yeah, maybe.” She practically breathed. “Thanks for being a good listener, Aelwyn.” She said.  _

_ Aelwyn felt a pang of imposter syndrome; was she a good listener, or did everything Penelope said go in one ear and out the other? Was she paying attention to her troubles or the sound of her soft voice on the other line? _

_ “Sure.” Aelwyn said. She could practically hear Penelope smiling through the phone, could practically see the two matching dimples on her cheeks.  _

_ “Okay, so. More importantly than all that, what colour top should I wear to school tomorrow? Blue or yellow?”  _

_“Yellow, definitely.”_ _She always looked best in yellow._

Penelope Everpetal was cold, it was impossible to argue that she wasn’t, but Aelwyn still can't deny that she had a heart; and though tucked away, slowly and  _ ever so slightly _ breaking, it was still warm. 

She had never anticipated going to her funeral. At least, not this early. 


	2. leftovers

“Right, so you’ve got your toothbrush? Your meds? Spell book?” Aelwyn lists off items as Adaine rushes around their bedroom, collecting various last minute necessities and stuffing them all into her suitcase. 

“All yes.” Adaine huffs. “I don’t need your help with this, I've got it.” 

“Your crystal charger?” Aelwyn asks, nodding her head in the direction of the item in question, which is still plugged into the wall next to her. 

Adaine freezes in place, then sighs. “Can you pass it to me?” She holds out her hand. 

“You’re  _ wel-come _ .” Aelwyn teases, her voice sing-songy as she unplugs the charger and tosses it into Adaine’s open palm. 

When the Bad Kids made plans together, she never really received word about said plans, but when she did, it was always too late for her to tag along. Well, that’s what her  _ excuse _ typically was; the truth being that she simply didn’t  _ want  _ to hang around the Bad Kids more than she already did in the Manor. So when Adaine had told her that the gang would be joining Fig and Gorgug on tour, she’d politely declined any implied offer to join them. 

It didn’t take her long to feel a twinge of regret this time around, though. A full week of being completely alone during the days in Mordred Manor would be the  _ definition  _ of loneliness (see also: nightmares, flashbacks, too much silence, being  _ very much  _ alone with her thoughts, and so on). 

On the day that the Bad Kids are set to head out, Fig’s colossal tour bus pulls into the driveway, emblazoned with the glossy, bright red logo for Fig & The Sig Figs. Aelwyn watches them pile in from the front porch, and she knows that in some silly little way, she’s going to miss them (much to her  _ great _ annoyance). She’ll miss their constant stream of chatter and laughter, ever present, like a sort of white noise in the Manor. White noise is good. It’s distracting. It’s  _ ordinary, _ and at this point, routine. Aelwyn doesn’t like breaking routine. 

A few hours after the bus departs, Aelwyn’s shaken from her own head when there’s a knock at the front door. She opens it, only to find a familiar face behind it, albeit more groggy looking than the last time she’d seen her. 

“Morning.” A rather hungover looking Sam Nightingale says. “I forgot my coat here yesterday.” 

Sam looks different in daylight. In contrast to the dark blue bags under her eyes and her hoodie that drapes over her like a dress, her hair is shiny and her skin is inhumanly clear; she just looks  _ softer.  _ She looks like how one would look if they had just gotten out of the passenger seat of a car that’d just driven a long way to get to a destination, and it had become night time on the drive, so she’d dozed off with her knees tucked in towards her chest. Like she’d emerged from a liminal space. 

Aelwyn shakes her head abruptly when she notices herself noticing these things. 

“Oh! Sure, yes, come on in.” 

Sam doesn’t say anything as she shuffles out of her sandals and enters past the main foyer into the living room. 

“I was sure I left it around here.” Sam mutters quietly to herself as she scans the space. Aelwyn wonders if she should even try to make small talk with her, as she can tell that this is an awkward encounter for both parties. Should she be giving Sam an apology? An explanation of some kind? What was there to even explain, though? 

It’s quiet for a bit, but Sam eventually finds her coat behind an armchair and she holds it under her arm. She rubs her eyes, and Aelwyn lets go of a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding. 

“Want a coffee? I was just about to make some.” She says, which isn’t entirely true, but she  _ could _ go for another cup if it means Sam staying around a little longer, because she can’t just  _ not  _ bring up what happened last night now that she’s here. Well, she can, but she’s trying to be better with this sort of thing, so she doesn’t want to. 

“Actually? That would be amazing, I feel like shit.” Sam replies with, to Aelwyn’s great surprise, a little lopsided smile.  _ You look like shit, too,  _ is the joke that Aelwyn thinks of. She doesn’t say it. 

Aelwyn leads her to the kitchen, and it still feels weird not addressing the  _ massive  _ elephant in the room, but she starts to boil some water in the kettle, then measures out coffee grounds while Sam grabs a seat at the counter. 

“I’ve never seen this place so quiet.” She says. 

“Fig brought them all on one of her little… music tours? I don’t know, I’m not in the loop, but I’ve sort of got the place to myself, as it were.” Aelwyn tells her. Sam just hums in response and looks down at her crystal. 

The water boils, and Aelwyn pours it slowly over the coffee grounds, a plume or steam filling the air. She watches the coffee drip through the filter, and the kitchen is silent again for a few moments. Sam is still on her crystal, and she’s tapping her foot. Aelwyn clears her throat. 

“Look. I feel like we… kind of got off on the wrong foot. A  _ couple _ of times. And I’m sorry about that.” She says. 

Sam looks up. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m over it.” She says, and Aelwyn can’t help but think,  _ what the fuck?  _ How could she possibly be over it?  _ She’s just saying that, right?  _

“Look. I know I probably should still have some sort of resentment about what happened last year, but like, I think I was just mad at you, specifically, because… I don’t know, it was  _ easy _ . Like, you were right there, being part of the whole Kalvaxus plot, and I didn't know you, so you kinda just felt like… a default? Does that make sense?” 

And it’s weird, because actually, it  _ does.  _ And it doesn’t take much reading between the lines to understand that she means that Aelwyn was just something of an anger-placeholder, and she knows exactly who for. 

She gets it. She knows a thing or two about learning that someone that you once loved had been a villain all along. You don’t want to be mad at them, even though you have every right to be, and truly  _ should _ be. 

“As opposed to…” Aelwyn starts. 

Sam shrinks a little in her chair. “Penelope. Yeah.” She finishes. That’s what Aelwyn had figured. 

The coffee finishes dripping through the filter, and she pours it into two cups, then slides one across the counter to Sam. “Do you take cream and sugar?” 

“Thanks.” Sam says. “And yeah, if you have it on hand, that would be great.” 

She does, and she passes them to Sam, who adds both to her coffee. She slides them back to Aelwyn, but she doesn’t put any in her own cup. 

“Y’know, you kind of remind me of her.” Sam breaks the silence. “Penelope, I mean.” 

Aelwyn’s brows raise, quite honestly not knowing whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. It stings either way. “How so?” She asks. 

Sam looks her square in the face, and without hesitation, says, “You’re hard to read.” 

Aelwyn hums in surprise at Sam’s bluntness; she hadn’t even been truly aware of that fact about herself, but it’s not unbelievable when she scans back in her memories. She mentally goes through the horrible, horrible list. She’d grown up in a home where she was meant to be seen and not heard, and she did just that, because she was Aelwyn, the beautiful golden child, the perfect daughter, quiet and well behaved. Then, she’d gone to high school, where she’d learned to lie, found out that it worked for her, and then lied and lied and  _ lied  _ without repercussion and she  _ delighted _ in putting on an act for people to hide her real intentions. Then, she’d met boys at inopportune times who just wanted to get in her pants and didn’t want to hear shit about her feelings, so she didn’t let them show. It’s not like she had a ton back then, anyways. 

Her poker face was crafted to perfection, come to think of it. 

It’s an interesting remark, considering the fact that Sam knows only the tip of a colossal iceberg as she looks at her with an indecipherable look. Interesting, she could say the same thing right back. So she does.

“So are you.”

Sam gives a slight laugh. “We make quite the pair, then, don’t we?” She replies. 

_ A pair.  _ “That we do.” Aelwyn says. 

It’s not long after that that Sam has to leave, something about having to run a couple errands. They say goodbye, and Sam leaves on her bike. Aelwyn wishes she didn’t have to go, because that meant that the house would be empty again until the evening. She absentmindedly brings her bottom lip into her mouth, and the cut on it from last night splits open again. 

———

It’s later, and Aelwyn is staring out her window, watching cars pass on the highway in the distance, endless beams of fluorescent, arcane light speeding across the overpass in and out of Elmville. She gets a text from Adaine telling her all about her wonderful day in Bastion City, how she didn’t get anxious, not even once, at the concert, and then wishing her good night, and Aelwyn responds the very same. She’s actually happy for her sister, which is  _ so  _ refreshing. 

Dozing off, she thinks again about how this week will be painfully slow if she doesn’t  _ do _ something with it. She thinks about her empty top bunk, along with the empty beds all over the manor. She thinks about Sam and her hoodie and her cup of coffee, and the cars on the highway don’t stop coming and going and coming and going. 

And then, in a moment of pure impulse, she picks up her crystal. She has an idea, and with it, two messages to send. 

**july 20th / 10:45 PM**

**To: Gorgug Thistlespring**

**From: Aelwyn Abernant**

**Hey. You’ll have to trust me on this one: could I borrow the Hangvan?**

**//**

**july 20th / 10:45 PM**

**To: Sam Nightingale**

**From: Aelwyn Abernant**

**Hey it’s Aelwyn (don’t ask how I got your number, I have my ways). This might sound wild, but are you down for a road trip?**


	3. crystal interlude

**july 20th / 10:45 PM**

**To: Gorgug Thistlespring**

**From: Aelwyn Abernant**

**Hey. You’ll have to trust me on this one: could I borrow the Hangvan?**

**july 21st / 9:05 AM**

**To: Aelwyn Abernant**

**From: Gorgug Thistlespring**

**hmm. i’m inclined to ask why?**

**july 21st / 9:08 AM**

**To: Gorgug Thistlespring**

**From: Aelwyn Abernant**

**Road trip. I’m bored (and extremely responsible, btw).**

**july 21st / 9:12 AM**

**To: Aelwyn Abernant**

**From: Gorgug Thistlespring**

**i mean?? this feels weird but i guess so?? talked to adaine, she says you’re a good driver. i’ll let my parents know you’re swinging by and they’ll give you the keys. you literally have to promise me you’ll drive safer than you ever have before. also don’t mind the celestial in the radio, he’s a chill dude.**

**july 21st / 9:13 AM**

**To: Gorgug Thistlespring**

**From: Aelwyn Abernant**

**Incredible. I promise. Thank you.**

//

**july 20th / 10:45 PM**

**To: Sam Nightingale**

**From: Aelwyn Abernant**

**Hey it’s Aelwyn (don’t ask how I got your number, I have my ways). This might sound wild, but are you down for a road trip?**

**july 20th / 10:46 PM**

**To: Aelwyn Abernant**

**From: Sam Nightingale**

**you’re crazy, abernant. when & where?**

**july 20th / 10:46 PM**

**To: Sam Nightingale**

**From: Aelwyn Abernant**

**Honestly if it works for you, wanna come by tomorrow morning? As for where, anywhere at this point.**

**july 20th / 10:47 PM**

**To: Aelwyn Abernant**

**From: Sam Nightingale**

**oh say lessssssss that works for me**

**july 20th / 10:47**

**To: Sam Nightingale**

**From: Aelwyn Abernant**

**Incredible, it’s a date.**

**july 20th / 10:48 PM**

**To: Aelwyn Abernant**

**From: Sam Nightingale**

**sure is lol see u then ;)**


	4. party trick (reprise)

_ “Whoaaa,  _ dude, a new homie chillin’ in the van? Alright, alright, I can vibe with you. Wanna listen to some uke jams?”

These are the first words that Aelwyn is greeted with upon starting up the Hangvan (after a, while honestly pleasant,  _ absolutely _ too long conversation with Gorgug’s parents), followed by a cheery ukulele song starting to play on the van stereo. The celestial’s voice startles her at first, but then she remembers Gorgug’s fair warning, and she sighs. 

“Um. Actually, Hangvan, I was thinking more along the lines of me playing music from  _ my  _ crystal?” Aelwyn says.

“Oh,  _ totes!  _ By all means, hook up to the aux!” 

Aelwyn does, and hits shuffle on her favourite playlist. She cranks the bass and it rattles the van’s windows. “My name is Aelwyn Abernant, and Sam Nightingale will be joining us soon. Uh. We’re friends of a friend of Gorgug Thistlespring.” 

“Hey, a friend of a friend of my buddy Gorgug’s is a friend of mine!” The Hangvan replies. “Who’s Sam Nightingale? Your hot S-O?” 

Aelwyn almost chokes on her breath, but just scoffs in response as she pulls out of the Thistslespring’s driveway and heads back to Mordred Manor, where Sam is there waiting, straddling her bike at the foot of the front steps, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. 

“Took you long enough.” Sam teases after Aelwyn parks the van. “You must’ve  _ really _ twisted Gorgug’s arm, hey?” 

Aelwyn shrugs. “Oh, it was nothing. I’m  _ very _ persuasive.” She replies, a bit smugly. It hadn’t actually taken a  _ ton  _ of convincing, but she falls into the cocky attitude like clockwork (plus, it’s worth it when Sam gives a tiny smirk in response). “Let me grab my bags.” 

She does, and they leave. 

———

Aelwyn is already starting to feel like this is a mistake. 

They head out on the highway away from Elmville in complete silence, for the most part, save for their quick stop at a drive-through for coffee. The coffee is cheap, so it’s  _ bad _ , and Aelwyn forces herself to tough it out as she takes the much needed caffeine down the hatch. She takes it black. Once again, Sam asks for an amount of cream and sugar that makes Aelwyn wince. 

It’s after a good half hour that Sam finally speaks up, and Aelwyn glances over to see her knees tucked into her chest in the passenger seat. 

“Hey, can I ask you something? And if it’s too nosy, please tell me.” Sam says. 

Aelwyn is sceptical, afraid of what the question might be, but she replies. “Mm-hm?” 

“Do you, like… are you into girls? Like, actually? Or at the party, was that just… you... being drunk and kissing a girl for fun?” There’s a hint of disdain in Sam’s voice when she asks her. “I just ask because, like, I know you did the same thing with, um… with Penelope. So.”

Aelwyn bites down hard on the inside of her cheek.  _ We’re really skipping the small talk, aren’t we?  _ She thinks to herself. 

She remembers that night, that party, that kiss, and it stings a little bit that Penelope told Sam about it, but she shouldn’t be too surprised. Best friends tell each other everything (not that Aelwyn would know the full extent of that sentiment). 

She remembers being  _ fucked up _ , cross-faded on dragon spice and a number of different types of liquor, in Dayne Blade’s parents’ two car garage, repurposed into a space for a party to mark the end of the summer. She doesn’t remember why they’d kissed, but she  _ does _ remember that Penelope’s lips tasted sickly sweet like alcohol and sugar, that they were very, very soft, and that they only stayed pressed against her own for about ten seconds. Not even. She also remembers Dayne flipping his shit; how he’d scooped Penelope up when they’d pulled away and started telling her all about how  _ that was so fucking hot, babe _ in his deep, shouty boy-voice _.  _ She remembers feeling really weird and objectified when he’d done that, but she didn’t say anything to him or Penelope, to anyone  _ ever,  _ because she liked to push that particular thought far, far back into her mind, among others that she would never dare let see the light of day. From there, she remembers thinking of ways she could potentially get Dayne away from Penelope later in the night, because she started feeling this weird protective instinct towards Penelope, and she thought Dayne to be gross. She didn’t follow through, though. 

She also remembers passing out on the floor, waking the next morning with a pounding headache and a stomach turning itself inside out; it had been her first  _ real  _ hangover. She remembers leaving Dayne’s without saying goodbye to anyone, then walking home and Misty Stepping into her bedroom once she got to her backyard. Her parents never found out. Worked like a charm; it always did. 

She doesn’t remember much else of that night at all, the only specific detail that stands out is kissing Penelope. 

When she’d kissed Sam, the scenario was just like every other kiss she’d had at every other party ever. Sam wasn’t technically an exception, save for the part where she’d stopped abruptly because she felt uncomfortable for bad, bad,  _ very _ stupid reasons. 

She shakes off that particular thought, hearing Jawbone’s voice in her head saying that her trauma isn’t stupid, and all that. 

“You know, Sam, I don’t know.” Aelwyn finally answers. “I actually… haven’t put much thought into it, to tell you the truth, but I’ve only ever been with guys in the past.” 

She doesn’t look away from the road, but she can tell that Sam shrinks down in her seat a little at that. “Oh.” She says, quietly. 

“Why, do  _ you  _ like girls?” Aelwyn asks.  _ Deflect the conversation, turn the question on her,  _ says her internal monologue. 

Sam laughs bitterly. “What do  _ you  _ think?” 

Aelwyn doesn’t know what to say, but she knows the answer, and she can tell that Sam is also aware that she knows. 

“I’m bi.” Sam clarifies. “Just so you know.” 

_ Ohh.  _ “That’s neat.” Aelwyn says. It’s the only thing she can think to say in response. What else is she supposed to say? Congratulations? That’s weird,  _ definitely never say that _ . “Fig is the same.” She pauses for a second. “You know, I actually live with so many girls who are into girls, now. Not sure about Adaine, but like, Fig, Kristen, Tracker, Ayda,  _ damn,  _ that’s nearly everybody.” 

“It’s part of the criteria for being a cool girl,  _ duh.”  _ Sam grins a little cheekily. 

Aelwyn raises a brow in suspicion. “Oh, you don’t think I’m cool? Is that what you’re saying?” She retorts, a little haughty in her tone. 

“Not at all. I think you’re  _ very _ cool.” Sam says. Aelwyn can’t be fully certain, but she swears she catches her wink out of the corner of her eye, and,  _ hm,  _ she needs a moment with that implication. 

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Sam says, abruptly. She reaches down by her feet to where she’d been storing her backpack, and pulls out a bag of gummy candies, tearing it open. “Want one? They’re peach flavoured.” 

“Oh,” Aelwyn glances over quickly. Again, she isn’t one for sweet things at all. There’s a reason why, though, and every time she thinks about it, it feels stupid. 

Growing up, her parents never allowed her or Adaine to eat anything sugary except for on  _ extremely _ special occasions, so in a desperate attempt to impress them, Aelwyn had fully convinced herself that she absolutely  _ hated _ sweets, therefore she had no desire for them in the first place. With that, following her own little rule that she’d secretly set for herself, she followed her parents’ rule flawlessly, and they were thoroughly impressed. Another success, another job well done. 

But now, she doesn’t have to follow that rule anymore, or  _ any  _ of their rules for that matter, and yet her brain is still trained to think that sugar is absolutely not her thing.  _ And for what?  _

“Sure. Just one.” Aelwyn says. “Thank you.” 

Sam places one in her hand, and she tosses it into her mouth. It’s covered in sourness on the outside, but it’s sweet and sticky on the inside, and to her surprise, it’s  _ really  _ good, better than she could’ve expected, which feels like a very rebellious thought. She savours it in her mouth for longer than she reckons anyone had ever taken to eat a single piece of candy before, and she feels positively revolutionary. 

She mentally files this moment under  _ times in which she felt like she was maybe getting just a little bit better. Just a bit.  _


	5. i know who you pretend i am

Aelwyn remembers when she found out that the house she grew up in burned to the ground. 

She remembers driving through Clearbrook, her old neighbourhood, on the way back from the Nightmare Forest, nestled in the back of the Hangvan with a blanket around her shoulders and Adaine’s sleepy little head in her lap. She remembers looking out the window upon the street she once lived on, passing house after perfect house, until approaching the extremely sparse remains of the Abernant home. 

She remembers instantly thinking of her bedroom. Her favourite outfits, her diaries from middle school, her blanket she’d had on her bed since she was a child; all gone. It’s hard to not feel sentimental about that part. Sometimes she still thinks about growing up in that room, that house, but then she’s reminded of her evil fucking parents and the similarly evil girl that she once was, and she doesn’t feel as sad that that part of her is gone. 

Her bedroom wasn’t  _ only _ soft frills and childhood memorabilia, though. Under her canopy-covered bed were the spare, rather busted, crystal palimpsests that she’d kept hidden, the bags of Dragon Spice, the bottles of liquor, the wads of cash, the assorted weaponry, the model ship of the Harpy; all of it was rendered unrecognizable.

But then she remembers thinking about how a lot of the things that she’d kept in that room had been Penelope’s. So many illicit items that she’d gotten Aelwyn to tuck away for her in order to avoid being caught with them, ruining her perfect little prom queen facade. Aelwyn never had a problem with this; in fact, the adrenaline rush that she got from keeping such big secrets from her parents was immeasurable. If she were to have gotten caught, she would’ve been dead, and that’s why she did it. The best part; she _never_ used to get caught. 

She remembers briefly thinking about how Penelope would be totally pissed once she found out that all of her shit had gone with the fire. 

But then she remembered that Penelope is dead. 

And how positively  _ morbid _ was that? It made her feel queasy, that Penelope died, no, was killed _ (killed!),  _ less than a year ago. Worse, she was so very  _ very _ much like Aelwyn. Well,  _ old  _ Aelwyn. 

Sometimes she thinks about how, if it weren’t for the single thread of familial attachment of Adaine being her sister, she would’ve been killed (again,  _ killed!)  _ on that rooftop at Ostentatia Wallace’s party. Sometimes she thinks about how, if she had met her end right then and there, then Fallinel, Kalina, the Forest of the Nightmare King… none of that would’ve happened to her. She would’ve died as old Aelwyn, though. There’s always a catch to these kinds of things. 

She starts to swerve on the highway, just barely, but corrects herself. 

_ Eyes on the road, Aelwyn.  _

Sam looks over. “What’re you thinking about?” She asks. 

Aelwyn finds it interesting that that’s her immediate response, rather than to be upset with her for losing focus while driving. It’s weird that Sam even  _ cares _ . People don’t usually care. 

She sighs. “A lot. Too much.” She tells her. “Sorry if this isn’t really fun, just driving with me in silence.” _ …while I quietly spiral about your dead best friend.  _

Sam shrugs. “It’s honestly kinda nice. It feels like some kind of closure, you know what I mean? Like, I’m glad we’re kinda getting to know each other, even after everything that happened. Turns out I actually  _ don’t _ hate your company at all.” 

Aelwyn can’t help but smile at that. “Yeah. Me too.” She says. 

They’re quiet for a while again. 

“Sam?”

“Mm?”

“Did you love Penelope?” 

A deep breath resonates from the passenger seat. “I mean, yeah, we were best friends. Sure, I did.” 

Aelwyn narrows her eyes. “Sam, you know that’s not how I meant it.” 

It’s quiet for a very long time. 

Finally, Sam speaks, quietly,  _ so  _ softly. “Can we pull over?” 

Aelwyn immediately flips on the turn signal. She isn’t entirely sure at first, but she swears that Sam sounds choked up. Once she pulls onto the side of the road at a nearby rest stop, she looks over to see Sam quietly weeping. She turns in her seat to face her. 

“Sam,  _ hey _ . Are you alright?” Aelwyn asks. “I’m really sorry if you didn’t want to think about that.”

“No, it's okay. The thing is…” Sam starts, sniffling and stumbling through her words. “It’s just that... I  _ did.”  _ A hiccup. Aelwyn’s heart sputters. “I loved Penelope.” Her voice is hardly audible at all, but Aelwyn hears every word. 

  
  


_ TWO YEARS AGO.  _

Penelope was beaming as she walked up Sam’s blisteringly hot concrete driveway in her yellow dress, with her dewy skin, dusted in summer freckles and flushed rosy at the shoulders and cheeks from too much sunshine. Sam’s smile upon seeing her was immediate, unbreakable, familiar.  _ Her best friend.  _ She loved her  _ so _ much. 

“Hi, Sammy!” She said. Her name sounded at home, nestled in Penelope’s voice. “I have  _ so  _ much to tell you.” 

— 

Sam’s fingertips were in Penelope’s palm as she painted her nails a pale pink. “It was, like, the sweetest thing a guy had ever said to me. Like, I got  _ major _ butterflies, you know?” Penelope told her, dreamily reminiscing her date with Dayne Blade, the quarterback of the Bloodrush team at school, the night before. How they’d gone to Basrar’s together and shared a milkshake, how they’d held hands almost the whole time, how he’d asked her to be his girlfriend, the whole deal. 

“Totally.” Sam said, a soft smile on her face as Penelope happily gushed to her, telling her all of the sappy details. 

“And then he  _ kissed me!  _ Right at the end, before I went inside. I swear, Sam, it was, like,  _ so hot _ .” Penelope giggled, beginning to blush as she bit the bottom corner of her lip. Sam giggled too. 

But something unusual wrenched in the pit of Sam’s stomach as Penelope talked about Dayne, happy to the point of being completely giddy with it. Sam knew that she should be partaking in this girlish feeling of glee along with her, but she instead felt something like a loss, something like making pathetic little grabby hands at nothingness in the air. Something almost,  _ almost  _ angry, but not quite. 

“I’m so happy for you!” Sam said. She was half lying. 

Penelope looked up from Sam’s nails to her face, a strange, indecipherable look in her eyes. “Sam, I feel like we’re gonna be together for a really long time. I don’t know why, but I just have this  _ feeling _ about him. Like, he could be  _ the one. _ ” 

Sam almost let out a laugh. She didn’t quite know what to say other than something that might hurt Penelope.  _ You’ve only had one date, don’t be so quick to daydream about getting your happily ever after with this guy you’ve hardly spent that much time with. He probably has the personality of a piece of white bread, anyways.  _

“That sounds really special.” Sam replied, a bit half heartedly. 

“I think it is.” Penelope said. “But don’t worry, Sammy, nothing’s ever gonna come between the two of us.  _ Especially  _ not a  _ boy _ .” She told her, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Sam badly wanted to believe her. 

—

It took about two weeks for Dayne to come between the two of them. 

Penelope started making rainchecks, rescheduling over and over, and eventually cancelling plans. She’d started missing calls, texts, posts sent on social media that’d made Sam think of her. They didn’t walk to school together anymore, Dayne would pick Penelope up in his car and they’d drive there instead. Sometimes, Sam would get a ride with them, but Penelope hardly spoke to her the whole way to school, so she sat marooned in the back seat, having to watch Penelope play with Dayne’s hair and softly kiss the knuckles on his free hand as he drove. She was obsessed, she couldn’t stop talking about him, she couldn’t  _ not  _ be around him, and it was starting to eat away at Sam in a frustrating, selfish way. 

And the thing was, it wasn’t  _ only  _ that she missed Penelope. She’d watch her and Dayne hold hands in the hallways and kiss each other’s cheeks and necks and lips and whisper in each other’s ears and call each other cheesy nicknames, and her heart felt like it was in a hydraulic press, being slowly but surely crushed, because she was  _ jealous _ . She wanted all of it, and the worst part was that she didn’t want these things from Dayne, she couldn’t care less about Dayne. 

She wanted them from  _ Penelope _ , and that was terrifying. 

She wanted _Penelope_ to kiss the knuckles of her free hand while she drove (well, she didn’t have her license yet, but whatever), she wanted _Penelope_ to play with her hair, she wanted _Penelope_ to hold her hand forever and always. She just _wanted_ _Penelope,_ and she felt like a fucking joke. Her _best friend._ She loved her _so much._

It was around the time of this horrifying realization that she’d met Johnny Spells. 

Johnny Spells; the perfect distraction, and the perfect new part of the equation. He was, by definition, a bad boy in Sam’s books. He drove a motorbike, he wore a leather jacket, he smoked cigarettes; he was so unlike Dayne, and she ate it right up. 

They’d started dating quickly and spontaneously, and soon, Sam was the one cancelling on Penelope. It made her feel powerful, like she was in control. She didn’t love Johnny, is the thing. Sure, she  _ liked  _ him, he was cool and stylish and mysterious, but secretly, he was just a tool, part of an act. He would kiss her and she would pretend that the taste of his cigarettes on his lips was strawberry chapstick, instead. 

She wanted Penelope to know how she felt, having her best friend not have time for her anymore. She wanted Penelope to be  _ jealous _ , she wanted her to want Sam back. 

And jealous, she was. Soon, Penelope started acting differently around her and Johnny when they were together. She’d never forget the look on Penelope’s face as she and Johnny sped past the passenger side of Dayne’s car on the way to school one day, and they’d locked eyes, just for a second. Penelope had this weird resentment towards Johnny, Sam could  _ tell _ . She kept trying to bring up his ex, Penny, who had just recently gone missing not long after they’d broken up. She kept implying that it was suspicious, and while Johnny refused to talk about it, Sam had her own, different suspicions as well; that Penelope was just trying to make up excuses for Sam to be less into Johnny. What was her  _ deal?  _

But then, she was in Johnny’s garage, and then he was holding a crystal. And then, she was  _ inside _ the aforementioned crystal.  _ That _ was when she understood. 

And then, she wasn’t in the crystal anymore, but rather in the school gymnasium, and her soon-to-be adventuring party was tearing a dragon the size of a house to shreds. They urged her to join in, but their voices conglomerated together, as if she was hearing them from underwater. All that she could focus on was the sight of Penelope Everpetal’s body, lying lifeless on the floor, bleeding out in her mother’s prom dress. She wanted to weep and yell and run, to scoop her up and slow dance with her under the fire breath charred, blood splattered disco ball suspended from the rafters, but she felt herself completely unable to move, to breathe, to even cry. She just stared at Penelope, a thin line of dark red dripping from her lips; seventeen, stiff, turning pale. 

She was dead. She was beautiful. She was gone. 

_ Her best friend.  _ She loved her  _ so much.  _


	6. drown you out/dreamscape (reprise)

Aelwyn hugs her. 

She doesn’t even think as she moves across the middle console of the front seat and wraps her arms around the puddle of a girl on the passenger side. She doesn’t process that it’s even happened until Sam’s arms are squeezing Aelwyn and she feels every divot and spiral of her fingertips on the skin of her arms. Her face is pressed into Aelwyn’s shoulder, so close that she can hear her shaky breaths that sound like complete and utter tragedy in her ear. Aelwyn doesn't hug often; she doesn't do physical affection often for that matter, so she isn’t sure what to do except to hold Sam in her arms, still and quiet.

“You can’t tell a soul.” Sam whispers into the fabric of Aelwyn’s shirt. “I’ve never told anyone that before.” 

“I’m really good at keeping secrets, trust me.” Aelwyn says with a slight smile. “Who would I tell, anyways?” 

Sam sighs wearily. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t know. It feels really good to get that off my chest, but it also feels kind of weird saying my deepest secret out loud for the first time in front of someone.” She mutters. 

Aelwyn’s hand moves, a bit awkwardly, to attempt to rub small circles into Sam’s back. That was comforting, right? She isn't quite sure; these days she’s used to being the comforted, not the comfort. She does it anyway, though, and there’s give to Sam’s back as she melts under Aelwyn’s palms. 

Looking up, Aelwyn notices that the sun is setting, and the sky is starting to turn a warm orangey hue. They’re parked at a rest stop against the highway, but there’s a pathway on the other side that leads to a brief, sparse treeline, and through it, Aelwyn can see water, crystal blue and sparkling in the sunlight, low in the sky and golden. They’ve reached the shores of the Celestine Sea. 

“Hey, while we’re here, would you maybe like to go for a walk?” She asks, speaking slowly. “We’ve been driving for quite a while, it might be nice to get up and stretch.” 

Sam slowly moves out of the hug, her nose and cheeks a dark, dark blue and her eyelashes tear-soaked spikes, and in a motion that would be barely noticeable to anyone else, Sam’s hand brushes a section of Aelwyn’s long hair over her shoulder as she unwraps herself from her hold on her. It’s so strangely tender, and Aelwyn gets goosebumps, just for a second. “Yeah, I’d like that.” She says. Her voice is heavy. 

Aelwyn hadn't felt significantly warmer when she’d hugged Sam at first, but when they come apart to get out of the van, she feels like she’s in an icebox. 

They walk across the otherwise empty parking lot in heavy silence, the cars on the highway providing background noise. Aelwyn notices Sam rubbing her hands together, probably trying to keep them warm in the chilled evening air. 

“Want to hold my hand?” She asks, holding out her palm, face up. Sam wordlessly takes it, a weak smile forming on her face. 

Aelwyn had kissed people, deeply and downright  _ nastily _ for long, long periods of time, and she’d even gone further than that a few times, but she had never once held a hand. 

They continue towards the sea, and once they breach the trees, there it is; a rocky shoreline which stretched on forever and water that went on for even longer. Sam begins to walk towards a set of large boulders, tugging Aelwyn along, who follows without hesitation. They sit on a flat rock together, facing the sea. It's quiet for a long time as the waves crash inhospitably against the shore.

“I was such an asshole.” Sam says into thin air. The statement doesn’t feel like it’s directed at Aelwyn. “Who does that? Dates someone out of spite? Me, I guess.” 

Aelwyn squeezes her hand, which she realizes she’s still holding as she does so. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure I’ve been much more of an asshole than you in the past. I worked with Kalvaxus and trapped girls in crystals. That’s  _ real _ asshole behaviour.” She stifles a laugh at herself. 

Another silence, until Sam turns to look at her.

“Why did you do it?” Sam asks her. “Work with Kalvaxus?” 

Aelwyn sighs. She never was good at answering that question; she only ever told the truth when people asked, but every time it seemed as though her answer was the wrong one, one that people didn't want to hear. Even Aelwyn hated the truth. She wished she had some sort of righteous reason for what she did, but the truth was far from that. 

“You’re not going to like the answer.” Aelwyn confesses. 

“Tell me anyways.” Sam replies. 

Aelwyn looks down on the scattered rocks at their feet. “I was just… tired of being good.” She says. “For the longest time, I was the perfect child, I was…  _ destined for greatness,  _ or something like that, and I was sick of it. The pressure from my parents got to a breaking point and I just went  _ fuck it, I’m done. _ ” She explains, a knot forming in her throat. “So I did all that shit for no reason other than, like, for… for  _ fun _ . I loved the feeling of doing things I wasn’t supposed to do, and this job with Kalvaxus just seemed like the perfect opportunity. But the first time I went out to trap a girl in a palimpsest… I  _ failed.  _ I mean, I put the girl in the crystal, but then I got caught. I got shipped off to Fallinel for almost a  _ year.”  _

Sam nods. She hates this part. 

“Sam, they were so fucking cruel to me and I don’t remember  _ any _ of it.” She says. “They broke my mind,  _ destroyed _ it. I lost most of my memories. My parents…” Her breath hitches, and she’s crying, god damnit. “My parents were…  _ evil. _ And they pushed me into doing things…  _ god,  _ sometimes I want to just fucking  _ scream  _ for how badly they hurt me _. _ ” Her head tilts skyward, avoiding Sam’s eyes, and the sun warms her skin as tears drip down her cheeks and to her neck. 

Suddenly, she feels Sam’s hand on her shoulder. “So do it.” She says.

“What?”

“Do it!  _ Scream _ , Aelwyn, nobody’s around. I’ll even do it with you.” Sam tells her, a look of wildness in her eyes, still bloodshot from her own tears. “I’ve got shit to scream about, too.”

“You can’t be serious.” Aelwyn says, looking around to see if there’s any chance in hell that someone will hear or see them if they do this.

“I  _ am _ .” Sam says, taking hold of both of Aelwyn’s hands and beginning to stand up on the rock they’re seated on. “C’mon.” 

Aelwyn looks at Sam’s face, which is overcome with a strange look of ferocity, and something about it to her, though she can’t explain it, is so fucking  _ beautiful _ , in the way that art is beautiful, urging the viewer to feel and ponder and never look away. Aelwyn doesn’t want to look away. 

She finally stands next to Sam, and somehow, though she’s still crying, she’s grinning, and Sam is mirroring her. They whisper a countdown.  _ Three, two, one.  _

They scream, screwing their eyes shut and throwing their voices as far as they can. Aelwyn screams for her pain, for her own mistakes, for her past. She screams for Adaine and for all her parents did to her, for the pain they caused  _ her, _ too. For every party she ever went to, for every bottle she ever drank, for every boy that looked at her and saw nothing but a stupid Hudol girl. She screams for the Elven homeland, and hopes with all of her might that her voice will carry across the water and be heard all the way to the very top of Calethriel Tower. She screams because it’s been inside of her all along, and for too long. 

Eventually, their throats grow bone dry, chests heaving, the remnants of their voices still echoing in the vast nothingness at the edge of the Celestine Sea. They look at each other, silent, eyes wide. 

Until suddenly, Aelwyn bursts into laughter, because she can’t believe she just did that, and Sam is quick to follow. They’re doubling over and their cheeks grow sore from smiling, and they barely consciously rejoin hands again, squeezing each other’s palms. And then, strangely, they’re holding each other again, still laughing, and Sam’s hand is on the back of Aelwyn’s head, and it grounds her. 

She feels lighter, now. Like she let go of a weight she’d been carrying for a very long time. And Sam is in her arms, and she in hers.  Why does she feel so warm _?  _ And understood _?  _ It’s so foreign, is the thing. The boys she’d been with in the past didn’t make her feel like this, in fact, she’s never felt this way before. She feels like there’s some kind of strange, hazy, pink-toned light in her chest, and it feels like it’s  _ absolutely  _ meant to be there. 


	7. i didn't do it right

They return to the Hangvan as it starts to get dark. They’re still holding hands; they couldn’t have been bothered to let go. 

“Penelope never would’ve done that.” Sam says as they’re walking back, her voice soft against the harsher sounds of cars passing by. 

Aelwyn shrugs, remembering just a few days ago when Sam had said she reminded her of Penelope. “Guess her and I aren’t so much alike after all, are we?” She replies. 

Sam looks at her, smiling lightly, easily. “Guess not.” 

They reach the van, but before getting inside, Aelwyn stops. “We could stay parked here for the night, if you want, and flip down the seats to sleep on. I brought pillows and blankets and stuff. Plus, I really don’t want to find a motel.” She says. “I can even put an abjurative ward around the van, just in case.” She hadn’t used up any of her spell slots for the day, so a quick ritual should be a breeze and a half. 

Sam nods. “Yeah. That sounds nice.” 

Aelwyn spends some time casting a protective spell around where they’d parked the van, bringing out the white chalk and spell components that she’d brought in her backpack and drawing an intricate rune circle on the concrete. Sam is a sorcerer, so she doesn’t exactly know the actions necessary for this sort of wizardly magic, but she tries to lend a hand wherever she can, and soon, the spell is complete; a twinkling pink bubble of a shield appearing, stretching upwards towards the night sky. 

“It’s pink.” Sam remarks, gazing up at the magical particles in the air. The shield casts a slight glow, and it makes Sam look more purple than blue. Aelwyn is sure that she looks pink, herself. 

“Oh! Yes, a wizard’s magic is quite… um,  _ handcrafted,  _ so it’s very personal, and usually it takes on a colour. Mine tends to manifest as pink, and Adaine’s is typically blue, for example. I’m not sure why, it’s just something I’ve noticed.” Aelwyn explains. 

“That’s really neat.” Sam says. “I like the look of yours. It feels very safe.” 

Aelwyn can’t help but smile a little, and she lowers her gaze to her shoes. She’d never been told that before. “Thank you.” She mutters. She exhales quickly and opens the back door of the van. “Shall we?”

They clamber inside and set up a space to sleep, pulling down the back seats to create a bed of sorts. It’s not quite as spacious as Aelwyn had expected it to be, and part of her wishes that Tracker were there to conjure up those little pockets of pillowy comfiness between the seats like she’d done during Spring Break. That’d been the one nice thing that she can remember from that time. 

It’s manageable, though, and soon they’re tucked into the blankets and pillows that Aelwyn had brought from her bed at Mordred Manor. They smell like hers and Adaine’s room, and it’s quite comforting, making her much less nervous about the fact that they’re sleeping in the middle of nowhere. 

Sam is lying a good few feet away from Aelwyn, one arm tucked under her head, her crystal in her other hand, a bright light in the otherwise dark space, their surroundings only made visible by the glowing pink light of Aelwyn’s shield through the windows. Lying next to Sam is not what she’d expected. She remembered sleepovers from when she was younger, she remembered waking up in the morning with a friend draped across her, so unbothered by the physical contact, but this is different. She feels like if she were to wake up with  _ Sam _ draped across her, she’d probably explode, and then have a heart attack, and then dissolve into a billion little pieces. This isn’t good. In fact, it is very, very bad. Why is she blushing? She hopes Sam can’t tell. 

Aelwyn doesn’t realize that she’d been staring at Sam (and her furrowed brows and her lip that she keeps worrying between her teeth) until she looks up from her crystal. 

“What?” 

Aelwyn stiffens. “Nothing.” 

Sam exhales out her nose in a silent laugh, her eyes soft and tired, but fond looking. 

“ _ What?”  _ Aelwyn copies her. 

Sam just smiles. “Your hair looks like it’s pink in this lighting.” She says. 

“Oh.” Aelwyn looks down at a section of her white-blonde hair that falls over her shoulder, and Sam is right; it looks a sort of pastel, peach-pink due to the glow of the shield. “Well? How’s it look, then?” She asks, placing a downturned hand under her chin and posing like some kind of silly model. 

Sam laughs. “I’m not saying you should dye it, but like, you should  _ totally  _ dye it.” She says, and Aelwyn rolls her eyes with a little smile. “It’s really cute.” 

When she smiles, the cut in her lip splits open again. 

The party. It replays in her mind, just for a moment; their brief conversation, the rush to find somewhere quiet, the kiss, the kiss, the  _ kiss _ , then the pulling away and the hasty apologies. 

She rewinds to the kiss, and something tugs at her chest  _ hard _ , it feels like her ribcage is made of paper and it’s being crumpled up by a giant, careless hand. She feels like she can’t talk, but what would she even say? What does she want to say? She feels like her voice is tied in a knot. 

Sam is still looking at her. “What’s up?” 

Aelwyn lets go of an enormous breath that she didn’t realize she was holding, and it feels like a great big cloud. “Sam,” she starts. 

“Yeah?”

“Sam, look. I know…” She huffs, unable to believe what she’s about to say. She speaks slowly and deliberately, but she’s  _ so afraid _ . “I  _ know _ I kissed you, before.”

Sam’s eyes go wide, and she nods slowly. 

“But the thing is, I don’t think… I didn’t do it right.” 

The paper of her ribcage uncrumples. 

“So, I think I’d like to, if you’ll have it, maybe… try again?” 

Sam just stares at her. It feels like forever until she answers. “I think you should.” She whispers. 

Their first kiss had been wrong. It was clumsy and miscalculated; the wrong place at the wrong time with perhaps the right person. Aelwyn had wanted nothing but to  _ feel something,  _ and Sam didn’t know. 

But oh, how time seemed to stop the  _ second _ time that Aelwyn Abernant kissed Sam Nightingale. 

Sam moves in before Aelwyn can even bring her own face close to Sam’s. She tastes the peach flavoured candy on her lips and she revels in this, the ultimate sweetness, the ultimate thing to want but never have, except now it’s  _ here _ and she  _ does  _ have it and that feeling of a glowing pink warmth in her chest is back. Perhaps it never left. 

And it’s  _ weird,  _ because Sam is here after  _ everything _ . After Kalvaxus, after the palimpsests, after prom, after Penelope. After she’d told her her story, after she’d heard Sam’s own. After she almost drove them off the highway; she’ll confess she isn’t the  _ best _ driver and it honestly wasn’t a  _ huge _ deal, but Sam still had enough trust in Aelwyn to let her take her  _ anywhere, _ no questions asked. And when had she proven to Sam that she was worthy of such trust? Of such understanding? Of such -...

It’s not love. Not yet. But a seed doesn’t sprout the day it’s planted.  _ That’s cheesy. That’s something Jawbone would say. Whatever.  _

For now, though, Sam is kissing Aelwyn, slow and careful and different from the first time but still unmistakably her, and Aelwyn lets her and lets her and  _ lets her.  _


	8. epilogue

It is three weeks later, but it feels like a lifetime ago to Aelwyn.

She’s in her study just below the tower bedroom; it’s accessed by a secret doorway in the spiralling stairwell. Whoever designed Mordred Manor must’ve been in love with secret doorways. 

Sam is asleep, her head on Aelwyn’s shoulder, while she studies some large wizarding tomes. Sometimes she thinks about how Sam doesn’t even need to think in order to summon thunder and lightning at her fingertips, and sometimes she’s jealous of that, but then decides she doesn’t really care, because it’s cool when Sam does it, and sometimes she just likes to step back and watch the sky tear apart at her will. 

Sam stirs. 

“Morning.” Aelwyn says, even though it’s mid-afternoon. 

“It’s like, mid-afternoon.” Sam replies. 

“I know.” Aelwyn smiles, rolling her eyes. 

She gets back to studying her spells for a bit, while Sam texts her group chat with the Seven Maidens about nothing in particular. Aelwyn briefly wonders what it must be like, to have a group chat with her friends. She doesn’t have many, even though she lives with so many other teenagers.  _ They  _ have a group chat, maybe she should ask Adaine to add her. Maybe. 

It’s comfortably quiet for a while, soft music playing from Aelwyn’s crystal nearby, until Sam speaks again. 

“When did you realize you liked me?” 

An interesting question; one that Aelwyn has to thoroughly mull over in her head. When  _ had  _ that happened? She didn’t even know she liked  _ girls _ for the longest time, but Sam had definitely been the one to make her realize. What a claim Sam is able to stake, too, “I made Aelwyn Abernant realize that she was gay”, what a powerful move. Well, it would be  _ more  _ powerful if she were still a little more socially relevant. That was something she’d had to break away from, but it was worth doing, because who she is now is a glowing, smiling reflection of who she was then. 

She comes up with an answer. 

“The second time we kissed.” It’s not a certain answer, and she says it with something of an upwards inflection, but it’s an answer nonetheless, and she’s fine with that for now. “What about you?”

Sam purses her lips as if she wants to say something, but can’t find a way to phrase it. “The first time.” She finally tells her, and Aelwyn’s brows shoot up at the unanticipated answer. 

_ “Really?”  _ Aelwyn asks. “That’s unbelievable to me. After I fucking… pushed you off of me?” 

“I appreciated how straight forward you were, to be honest. And besides, you kissed good, and you looked really pretty. In like, a very soft, wistful way, y’know?” 

Aelwyn laughs. “Soft and wistful? God, you are a  _ master _ actress, I never would’ve guessed.” 

“Well, I don’t exactly wear my heart on my sleeve.” Sam says. “But y’know, I’m glad we found each other, anyways. Like, we have stuff in common. I’m pretty sure you’re the only person I can talk to about… well,  _ you-know-who.”  _

_ Penelope,  _ Aelwyn thinks, filling in the very obvious blanks _.  _ She leans into Sam’s side. “Yeah.” She says with a sigh. “I’m glad we found each other, too. Even if it was kind of unconventional.” 

“Yeah.” Sam smiles. “And you know what?  _ Fuck _ Penelope Everpetal.” 

Aelwyn echoes her. “ _ Fuck  _ Penelope Everpetal.” 

Even though she knows, deep in her heart, that neither of them really mean it. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! this fic is so near and dear to my heart, and i really hope that you enjoyed reading it. it was such a delight to be a part of this event!!! <3 
> 
> i am on twitter @danbreys and tumblr @neverpetal :)


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